


L’Appel du Vide

by ThePagemistress



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePagemistress/pseuds/ThePagemistress
Summary: French idiom: The bizarre inclination for doing something dangerous or deadly, no matter how foolish they know it is.A feeling has been building inside Francois for a while. It comes to a head at Watkins Glen 1973.





	L’Appel du Vide

**Author's Note:**

> I still don’t know how the hell practice sessions worked in the 70’s and if there was more than one or what days they were. But for the sake of this story, I’m pretending there was at least one on a Friday and then the one on Saturday before qualifying. I hate having inaccuracies in fic. Go figure.

Something had been building in François these last months. A feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. A niggle in the back of his head. A word, a _sensation_ , he never thought he’d ever associate with Jackie Stewart.

Resentment.

Even the acknowledgement of it made him feel uneasy. But there was no denying it for what it was. He’d tried. Tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself it was nothing. That it was just his earnestness getting the better of him.

Then he spoke to Jacky.

He mentioned how he felt like he was due another win this year. How he felt it was his time to start fighting at the top every race weekend. And Jacky had nodded, but there was something else there. Something that had François asking him what? What is it?

“In that team, though?”

François didn’t understand the question. Of course, that team. They were one of the best on the grid, they had already proven they could win championships. Why _not_ that team?

“Because of your teammate.”

François knew that, for whatever reason, Jacky was not Jackie’s biggest fan. But this statement appeared to make less sense to him than the last. Jackie was the best teammate he could have. He had learned so much from him, he’d helped him settle into the team, he’d even welcomed him into his family. What could possibly be wrong with his teammate?

“There is nothing wrong with him,” Jacky had said, a slight bite to his tone. “But he will always be the teacher. You, the student. No matter what.”

François had rolled his eyes and shaken his head, amused smile playing on his lips as he stared back at the Belgian. A dismissive gesture. Only his mind wasn’t quite so quick to dismiss it.

For the most part, things were much the same as always. But at race weekends, François had started to notice things more and more. How often Jackie would give him unsolicited advice. How François’ first instinct in a race was to act as rear gunner, instead of challenger to his teammate. How often Ken and Jackie would have their little private discussions about important matters that he apparently wasn’t worthy enough to be included in.

Occasionally he’d glance at Jacky to find him already watching him, eyebrow raised as if able to sense the growing dissention within him. But he never said anything. And François didn’t discuss it with him again.

It came to a head at Watkins Glen.

Jackie had already been crowned champion for the third time. The celebrations had been wonderful, as had the time since Canada François had spent with the Stewarts. Perhaps that was why it felt like such emotional whiplash when that familiar stab of resentment reared its head during practice on the Friday.

The session had just ended, François on top of the time sheets. He climbed out of his Tyrrell, whole body thrumming with adrenaline and a big grin on his face, clear as day even with his helmet still on.

“François?”

The Frenchman turned to look at Jackie who had already removed his helmet and replaced it with his signature cap. His grin grew even wider at the sight of him as he pulled his helmet off.

“I am the fastest so far! Did you see, Jackie? And I even think I can go faster. I am losing a little bit of time in the Esses and I think the last corner but tomorrow I should-“

“Actually, lad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” François cocked his head, curious. “It would probably be better to take the Esses in a lower gear. The way you’re doing it, you risk losing the back end and the whole car as a result.”

François felt his face shut down. “But then I lose the time,” he said, tone flat. “I do it the way I am now, I can get my first pole position. I am faster than everyone else.”

“Because everyone else knows not to take the Esses in that high a gear,” Jackie countered, confusion clear on his face.

“But I don’t know this. Because I am stupid and need to be told everything,” François bit back.

Jackie floundered for a moment, caught off guard. “What? No, that’s-“

“You do not like me being faster, I think. I should always be behind.”

“That’s not-“

“I have driven here before, you know. Maybe you remember but I have actually won the race here in the past.”

Jackie opened his mouth to say something but cut himself off before he could even start. But François could see that first word forming. _Actually…_ François narrowed his eyes. “Say it.” Jackie’s brow furrowed further, looking more and more lost at what was happening. “Say it,” he repeated. “You let me win that race. You waved me through. I only won because you had a problem. Yes?”

“…François-“

But François had had enough. He could feel the months’ worth of grievances building up in his throat but something made him hold them back. Made his feet turn away from the man who had given him so much, so that he didn’t have to hear how unappreciative he was feeling in that very moment.

After aimlessly wandering for several minutes, he found himself back in the garage. There were only a few people still milling around, working on some preparations for tomorrow. Both Tyrrells already had their covers on but François pulled the one over his own far enough back that he could slide back inside the cockpit. The few remaining people didn’t question it; drivers were strange and should be left to their own devices on a race weekend.

There was no steering wheel attached but François didn’t feel the need to go find it as he instead mimicked the grip and closed his eyes.

He visualised the track. Remembered how he had driven it earlier. The speed he had managed to carry into the corners. How loose it felt but not enough that he was going to lose it. He came to the Esses and faltered. If he took it in a lower gear, he’d lose pole position. He couldn’t make up that kind of time around the rest of the lap.

He had to take it in that gear. He had to. He had to show that he knew better. That Jackie didn’t know everything. He deserved to be on equal terms. He had to prove it. Again and again he imagined that part of the track. The approach, the elevation, the rear kicking out.

And so what if it was risky? Wasn’t that the whole point of racing? Risk was what made champions. No, what made legends. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Jackie was just being too safety conscious. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with a similar attitude. He had to leave his mark. Make a name. Had to go in that higher gear if he wanted to be in the history books. So what if he did have an accident? At least he tried. No one would remember a second row start. Just had to go faster, he knew what he was doing. Over and over he played it through his mind, going faster and faster, just managing to hold on.

Until he doesn’t.

His fingers twitched on the imaginary steering wheel as he visualised it snapping out of his grip, spinning him out of control towards the Armco. He could almost hear the crunch and twisting metal around him, his muscles spasming at the phantom impact.

He let out a shaky breath, his heart beating faster than it had any right to from being sat alone in a stationary car. He felt nauseous. He didn’t really think that about Jackie, did he? No. His safety efforts were one of the things he admired most about him. Seeing how much opposition he had and how he still stood defiant against it. It was one of the reasons François considered him the best around. What was _happening?_

François frowned as he had the sudden feeling of being watched. His suspicions were confirmed as, upon opening his eyes, his gaze immediately snapped to Jackie perched on a box beside his cockpit, watching. His expression was fond. Fonder than it had any right to be right then. It made François bristle with guilt.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Jackie said, tone hushed but not quite a whisper.

François realised his fingers were still tightly clenched, leaving little crescents in his palm. He loosened them, along with the rest of his body, lounging back as best he could in the cockpit. “No, I was just…trying a new technique,” he said, unable to bring himself to make eye contact.

“There’s uh…something I think I should tell you,” Jackie said, fiddling with the cap he now held in his hands, giving him something else to focus on. “This is going to be my last race.”

François’ gaze snapped back to the Scotsman who’s own gaze remained resolutely fixed on his cap. “You mean for Ken?”

“For anyone,” he said, finally looking up into François’ wide eyes. “I’m retiring.”

François continued to stare, brain whirring to try and make sense out of this information. People like Jackie didn’t retire. They continued on and on until they couldn’t find a seat anymore or they were killed. In fact, now that he thought about it, neither of those scenarios belonged anywhere near Jackie Stewart.

“But…” François started before his brain had really caught up. “But what will Formula 1 be without you, Jackie?”

Jackie chuckled, more exasperated than anything. “And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see the back of me at this point.” He smiled as he said it but it wasn’t necessarily a happy smile. François didn’t have time to try and explain himself before he continued, “I know things have been a little…stagnant for you recently, perhaps. But I’ve known for most of this year that you were going to be number one at this team next year and so I've just been trying to teach you everything I know. I never really thought how it would be from your side, not knowing if things were ever going to change. Until earlier, that is. So I thought maybe it would be best to tell you, so you maybe don’t think you have anything to prove to me. Or Ken. I know that you can out pace me on track, I’ve known it all year, you’ve just been getting in your own way for the most part. Ken has no concerns about having you as the number one, you’re more than ready.”

François was absorbing all the words but most of his energy was being spent trying to contain a hysterical laugh. Because god, he did _not care_. About being number one, about proving a point, about being ready… All the grievances he thought he’d had all year; it was as if they had suddenly been exorcised from his body. Like the seed of doubt that had originally been planted in his brain and spread like a disease as time wore on, had been purged completely. Almost as if it had never been his idea in the first place.

“But you will still come to races, yes? You will still be around?” François asked.

Jackie recognised the earnestness in his expression and the fondness returned, a shy smile creeping across his lips. “Aye, I don’t imagine you’ll be able to keep me away for long. I might even look into doing some TV work.”

“Oh! That would be perfect, you would have a lot of interesting things to say. Many of the people on there talk a lot of shit because they do not know what it is like in the car! Yes, I think that would suit you.” Jackie chuckled again. “Plus,” François continued, a little more reserved, “I am sure there are still some things you can teach to me.”

It was his way of saying ‘I’m sorry for dismissing your advice’ without actually having to say it. From the way Jackie nodded, smile still plain on his face, he knew the message had been received. “Well, we’ll see about that. Pretty sure I’ll be coming to _you_ for information sooner rather than later.”

“Ah, yes! You always say I have a face for the screen, you will need to interview me a lot, I think,” François said, signature grin back on his face. “Helen must be very pleased.”

“Ah, well, she doesn’t know,” Jackie said, surprising François once again. “Ken and a couple of the Ford guys were the only ones I told. I didn’t want to tempt fate or something. I think maybe I should have told you sooner, though.”

François waved it off, feeling pleased that he had told him at all if that was the case. “Well, she _will_ be pleased then. And this will be your one hundredth race, no? A good number to end on!”

“You and your numbers,” Jackie said, shaking his head. “Come on,” he said, slapping François’ shoulder and offering him a hand. “I feel like I owe you a drink.” François took the offered hand and climbed out of the cockpit. “And...about the Esses…” he trailed off, not really knowing how to broach the subject again.

“I can find more time in the last corner,” François said. “This I know. I will try and be more careful through the Esses.”

“That’s all I ask, lad,” Jackie said, nudging him in the side.

François took the Esses in a lower gear for the remainder of the weekend. He didn’t get pole position. He still won the race. He still made history. He still become a legend.


End file.
